


hers to claim

by Raikishi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25054309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: “Jeez - just fuck your claim into him when he gets back,” Hilda mutters.“What.”“Nothing.”“Hilda.”Claude is sent on a honeypot mission and Byleth does not approve
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 145





	hers to claim

“No.”

“My friend, you and I both know this is the best course of action.”

“No.”

“That is not an argument,” Claude frowns at her, his arms folding as he tilts his head. 

Byleth recognizes that look. The one that indicates he’d come across something profoundly interesting or profoundly confusing. The look as he approaches a particularly complicated problem set before him. As if he cannot comprehend why she might be concerned with him … _offering_ himself to an Empire noble for what could be nothing. 

“The Empire’s had some surprisingly adept counters for our last few battles. As if they’d read out minds. Or our maps. Any more and we might be strangled before we can reach Enbarr,” he sets a hand on hers and with a start Byleth realizes she has hers clenched. He gently eases her fingers loose, angling himself as if he were a student again asking favor, “We’ve come this far. We cannot slow our momentum now.”

“We’ll be strangled if you die,” Byleth says because she’d never been the sort to indulge him no matter what Hilda says. 

“I’ll try my best not to,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks at her slyly, “You’ll make sure of that won’t you?”

“Of course,” Byleth says automatically and he grins as if he has won. Byleth curses herself, grabbing his arm before he can pull out of her space, “Which is why you’re not going. You lead our army. There’s no war to fight without you.”

“Not so,” Claude quips cheerfully, “You’re our fearless leader here. We came back to the monastery for you. And we march under the Crest of Flames under you.”

“Because you’ve been pushing those responsibilities towards me,” Byleth growls, squeezing his wrist and to his credit, Claude’s expression at least dips a little towards guilt. She squeezes harder, “You are irreplaceable.”

A little too close to the truth. Claude stares at her wide-eyed, his mouth parted in surprise and for a long second, Byleth contemplates fitting her mouth there and –

Hilda clears her throat and Claude pulls away, a little quiver of disappointment on his lips. His touch lingering as he slowly extracts himself. Byleth wants to take him to the _ground_.

“Am I interrupting?” Hilda asks sweetly.

“No.”

“Yes,” Byleth counters, belligerent, “We’re not done with this conversation.”

“We very much are.”

“ _I_ have a better chance on something like this than –”

Claude looks at her, too much a challenge in his eyes, and Byleth forces down the little roar in her blood. 

“You underestimate me, my friend,” he says, leaning in too close, gaze burning like the sun. The full force of his attention pinning her in place. He tugs lightly at a lock of Byleth’s hair, “You know this is the best plan of action, my friend. And Hilda and I have worked out the details. I’m going.”

Byleth grips the table she’s leaning against to keep herself from doing something silly like tossing him over her shoulders, forcing herself still as she watches him leave. 

* * *

The years have been kind to him. Too kind.

Byleth does not look at Claude’s ass as he flits about the room in an attire that hugs the sharp lines of a body. Accentuating muscles built from battle. The mask he’s wearing is golden as he is, hiding all but that wicked confident smile. 

A golden boy. 

No, Byleth realizes sourly as he dips a woman on the dance floor.

He’s no longer the boy who’d grabbed her hand at the White Heron Ball and tripped over his own feet, leaning into his clumsiness eagerly with a trickster’s mischief. Claude guides women and men about the room with smooth elegance, his smile sharp and beatific. A clever man’s dare that drew others too close. She watches him wind through the crowds, snaring attention when he wants and disappearing when he does not. Disarming with nothing more than a smile when strange men and women put themselves in his path. 

“Whoopsie, here we go,” Hilda takes the dagger from Byleth’s hands, tucking it back against Byleth’s leg, eyes knowing and full of amusement, “Not our cue yet.”

“I know our cue, Hilda,” Byleth says and it is too harsh beneath the still night. 

A cat or rodent stills in the dark, craning its head to peer at them for a long moment before delving back into the trash, having a little feast of its own on the remains of the party.

At least someone here was enjoying themselves. Byleth’s hand twitches towards her sword, feeling stupidly uncharitable. Hilda sighs, loud and put-upon as Byleth had done five years prior when Hilda had tried to beg off lessons. 

How the tables have turned.

“Maybe I should’ve brought Marianne,” Hilda says mournfully, “I do miss parties and she’d be so pretty in a dress.”

“You did refuse to play the part,” Byleth says, far more accusatory than she’d meant to.

Claude’s found his target. 

Byleth watches as he leans into the Empire duke, his gaze drawing down the man’s body in open invitation. The duke smiles in response, pressing a kiss to Claude’s knuckles, entire body turning in acceptance.

The Sword of the Creator digs sharply into Byleth’s palm. 

“Jeez - just fuck your claim into him when he gets back,” Hilda mutters.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“Hilda.”

“Oh my, that was quick,” Hilda touches a hand to her mouth in faux surprise and Byleth turns in time to see Claude guide the duke away.

To see him put his lips against the duke’s ear, a little sly smile on his face as he whispers something that makes the other man shudder. Whatever it is is enough to gain Claude an invitation. Byleth watches in silence as the two drift towards the edges of the crowd, hovering for a moment before they slip to the stairwell and disappear from her view.

Hilda grabs for Byleth’s arm, reminding her, “Fifteen minutes.”

“I haven’t moved,” Byleth raises an eyebrow.

She also did not need the reminder. She was their strategist for Sothis’ sake. She could stick to a plan. She folds her arms. Leans against the tree pointedly. And ignores the rapid beat of impatience in her chest as she counts the seconds. 

“Mmm,” Hilda’s hum is heavy with judgment. 

It is an aggravating fifteen minutes. Fourteen minutes as it turns out. Seconds before Byleth sets off her distraction, an alarm goes off in the distance. 

“There’s an attack at the gate!” 

Byleth tucks herself and Hilda in the shadows, terror clawing rabid at her throat for a half-second before Claude appears before them. 

“Time to go, ladies,” he says, offering them both an arm and guiding them away with casual grace.

“Extracted yourself did you?” Hilda asks and he shakes his head.

“Not me this time. Looks like loyalists from the Kingdom,” Claude says, “But I’m not one to complain about luck.”

“Must be loved by the Goddess,” Hilda says, throwing Byleth a meaningful look.

“Were you successful?” Byleth does not growl. She also does not grab her sword again, only leans into Claude’s arm as if they were simple partygoers fleeing.

“Did you ever have any doubt, Teach?” Claude smiles at her and it’s so like the grin he’d flashed at the duke she nearly –

Nothing.

She nearly nothing.

“Either way, looks like you had a good time,” Hilda says and in the little flash of a lit arrow above their heads, Byleth spies a little bruise on his throat, well beneath the collar. Tracks teeth marks in his open shirt and –

* * *

“My friend,” Claude says after, in a tone of aggrieved judgment as he bandages her arm, “That was a spectacularly stupid move.”

“Got us out.”

“Maybe but it nearly got you caught beneath a hail of arrows.”

“Then we shouldn’t have gone to begin with.”

She feels him go rigid beside her, his breathing still and silent, irritation sparking the air between them.

“Is that what this is about?” Claude asks, voice dripping with incredulous annoyance, “Because you didn’t agree with my plan so you wanted to be _petulant_ about it?”

“No.”

“You’re not making a convincing argument avoiding my eyes.”

Byleth makes an effort to look at him and her eyes go immediately to the bites and bruises on his throat and neck. To the missing button on his shirt front and the mark of teeth against a nipple –

“As the Leicester lord, you shouldn’t be doing,” she makes a gesture, frowning heavily, unable to get the words out, “That.”

He looks down at himself, expression cracking open with disbelief.

“It’s …” there are no appropriate words, “You’re too … young.”

“Is that so?” Claude asks, his voice hard, tone baiting, and ready for an argument. 

No.

Byleth holds back the word, looking away from him but he slides his chair close. His green eyes flash with a dare as he meets her gaze. The bandages are set to the side, forgotten. Byleth holds herself carefully still as he holds her face in calloused hands. Does not think about where else he can put those hands.  


“I survived Garreg Mach five years ago. I’ve fought this war on two fronts. Held the command for you while you slept,” he says, his voice trembling with barely constrained anger and hurt, “I’m not your student anymore and I’m not in need of a wet nurse.”

He’s so close. She can smell the party on him still, incense and another person on his hair. See the deep red of another’s mark on him.

“I thought we could walk side by side as equals but if –“

She kisses him. He makes a confused noise as she slots her mouth against his. Byleth feels him flail as she yanks him into her lap. He struggles to catch himself, hand bracing hard on the chair behind her as he topples gracelessly into her.

“T-te–“

“You’re right,” she breathes against his mouth, “I’m not your Professor any longer.”

She swallows his next words in another kiss, biting at his lower lip until he parts for her. His hands trek cautiously up her back and then fist in her hair as he kisses her back just as eagerly, stifling a moan into her mouth as he clings to her. Relief and desperate want washes through her as he molds himself against her, surrendering to touch on a sweet sigh that melts her through. 

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Claude pulls away from her and that’s too far. 

She wants him back. Wants him crying sweetly like a songbird for her and only her.

His expression is bright with amusement as he holds a hand to her mouth, keeping her at bay, a little laugh in the back of his throat as he tries to speak.

“I see - ah, that was –“ he clears his throat delicately and Byleth could growl at the prolonged interruption, “Was that the reason?”

“I was simply concerned,” she scowls at him.

“That I might be killed or that I might be…” he waggles his eyebrows at her, tugging lightly at his collar to indicate the marks. His body angled like an offering.

Byleth does not pretend to resist, sinking her teeth over another’s mark until it vanished beneath hers.

Dimly she’s aware that he’s laughing at her, his entire body shaking as he tilts this way and that, allowing her space to do as she pleases. Until there is a lovely constellation of her marks over his skin. Claude grins at the marks, touching a careful hand to each of them as if measuring the size with his fingers.  


“Pleased with yourself?” he asks, taking her hand to worry his teeth over the pad of her thumb. He smiles when she does not reply, full of unfiltered delight. There’s no trace of the careful schemer hiding behind a jovial mask. No stain to his smile as he looks at her. The adoration in his eyes making her pulse roar. He turns her hand over to kiss her knuckles, “My friend, I have always belonged only to you. To do as you please.”

Byleth shudders at the promise, rising sharply to a stand, her hands around his thighs to hold him in place, catching the wobble of surprise on his mouth before gleeful mischief takes its place. 

Ah - your –" another delicate cough, "Your arm, my friend?"

"I don't feel it," Byleth says, biting at his mouth as she walks, "You're a very pleasant distraction."

Claude stifles a laugh into her throat, clinging fiercely to her shoulder.

He’s still laughing as she kicks open the door to her room. 

When she deposits him on her bed. 

And still when she takes Hilda’s advice to heart and claims him hers.

**Author's Note:**

> byleth at the party: bro, i am straight up not having a good time right now
> 
> \--  
> this was just an excuse to write claude as a pretty honeytrap


End file.
